What I hear....
The slow glide of the confident bow across the cello's "A" string and the melody pours out of the "f" shaped carvings on the side of the majestic instrument. The piece stuns the ears of the listeners, drawing them back. The sound comforts yet taunts the observer to, "Come and look, listen." I am mesmerized as well as apprehensive; confident yet weak; alone yet in a crowd. As I stand drinking in the unforgettable sound, everything stops. I am left alone with only memories, echoes off the antique walls. I walk slowly, deliberately toward the stage and wonder what the inspirational tune was. The cello leans against the chair alone, the musician gone, and the stand looming directly in front of my hands. I excpect to see something long and famous, but as i approach the standa single sheet flutters to the floor. At the top in bold lettring is a name I am suprised to see, and it appears the young musician wrote the piece himself. I take a gulp and read the title of the sweet melody, a single name which happens to be my own.